Beautiful Things
by Anesther
Summary: Gift-fic for Makenna Jasper and Rosalie: It was only with him that she saw a beauty even rarer than herself.


**AN: I really need to update my other fictions--I KNOW I do--but, because Makenna is awesome, her birthday's coming soon _and _she purchased the book "Wicked" for me, here's my way of showing gratitude. You're getting a parody version also, in a little while! XD I do hope it reaches a mushy-goo level, despite the _extreme _shortness. ^^'**

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters in this one-shot. If so, I'd make the story of "Twilight" more bloody fitting. For me, anyway.**

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**_Beautiful Things_**

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I see him staring, always staring.

I pretend not to notice that he is, but that's only because I've gotten _slightly_ better at hiding my emotions from him. It's a never-ending battle raging within me—forcing me to suppress these feelings. For he is a companion, a person who will listen to my doubts and my aspirations; he is the gentle force who knows my secrets yet is completely oblivious to the desires in this non-beating heart.

Jasper is the love who keeps me going in this place meant for mortals.

And he will never seem to know how much I appreciate the tender care he devotes to me.

The kisses I give him never seem to convey the depth; the embraces we share—hugs so tight and constricting—don't seem to be enough; there is never enough, never enough, to alleviate completely, reach the point of no return in our insurmountable high…

These are inconsistent, rampant thoughts. I know they are, for he turns a questioning eye towards me, golden orbs so similar to mine and still absolutely different; his convey a luring darkness in their amber colour, ever-changing and ever-knowing, lovely oculars that have seen much and hold their own ciphers to the darkest recesses of his mind. There's a simple way for us to understand one another, however—syntax is an unnecessary petty thing. We just seem to _know_. Always aware of the surroundings he and I are in, the emotional states we strive through.

He helps me. That's how it is.

I close my eyes and rest my head against his, pressing my back further into the taut muscles of his own; he is staring up into the bleak clouds, while I continue to gaze out beyond the brush, blades of green grass pooling around us. Time is interminable for vampires—we could sit here for years and we probably would not even ponder it.

"Rosalie," he murmurs, the bass of his voice reverberating, thrilling my hollow core for the briefest of moments.

I answer with a simple yes.

"What are you thinking?"

Typical question he asks of me. "You,"

Jasper chuckles and, again, it enriches, feeds, the hunger in my greedy soul. I welcome it.

"What about me do you find fascinating?" he probes, and I can hear the rare humour in his voice.

I sigh in content, watching a few clouds break. "Your voice, indefinitely, at the moment—it's so resonant and sonorous."

He laughs joyously, a sound I am incredibly delighted to hear and feel all the more. "Is that so?"

"Yes," I reply just as gaily as him. "It does pleasure the senses, you see."

He turns to me then, a handsome smile playing around the corners of his lips. He moves nearer, his chin now upon my shoulder; he brushes a lock of my hair behind my ear and nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck.

"What else?" he asks politely, in a very gentlemanly fashion. But he and I know him better than that.

In return, I lower my lashes coquettishly and give him a pleasant smile. "Your touch,"

"Glad it is to your liking," he replied languidly, his hands sliding up and down my arms. My smile widens to a grin, and I tilt my head back to look at him. He is gorgeous, magnificent; no matter how much he so foolishly denies this, he is an angel in my eyes.

Sensing this, Jasper almost withdraws, but I firmly clasp his larger, scarred hand within my own.

"What?" I inquire softly.

Jasper gazes into my face, and I, too, drink in the sight of him—the luxuriousness of his dark honey hair, the scars on his sculpted features, the endless void of his eyes—like drowning in the warm, glittering sun.

He reaches up, placing his hand upon my cheek. Neither of us flinches when we feel the frigid rain begin to pour above; we are cold, forever marbled from ice, but the fire in his eyes seems to liven me from the inside out, making me feel almost completely human.

This is only with him.

I lean in, breathing in his scent, delicious, ambrosial in sweetness despite the spice in it; it's tantalizing everything in me. Even after all these years, there's nothing that can exemplify something so extraordinary. I part my mouth and press it softly on his. A shock courses into me and he obliges, deepening it, yet kept it gentle.

Jasper sighs and puts his forehead against mine, closing his eyes in contemplation, though never moving his palm. He glances up at me after a moment of silence. He seems… upset?

"What is the matter?" I ask again, hoping for an answer.

"Am I wrong to love you?" murmurs Jasper, though it appeared as if he was questioning himself.

Flummoxed, I cup the left side of his face, whilst my other hand pressed itself on his chest. In this moment, our proximity is indescribable, and with the clean rain, he is dangerously magnified; the blonde hair sticking to his face, darkening further, a strand falling appealingly over one of his eyes. I watch the water soak into his white shirt, and, if I had breath, it would have fettered. The lean muscles just never cease to entrance me, the quotidian façade withering away into a soft gaze, benevolent and amorous.

I felt maudlin; and, could I cry, I would. He's precious to me, _sublime_ and _opulent_ and _dazzling_—just _wonderful_. He's everything I am not, and I do not deny this; he is sensitive while I am heartless, he's kind and admirably affectionate, contrasting to my neglectful and ignorant nature. Perfection is carved in every contour of his body, in every moiety of his soul.

No one is sure if we have souls, but there is no doubt of Jasper's.

He's more winsome than I am—he always will be.

I know that he can never be _mine_, however.

But in this secluded place, his finesse, his passion, his love, is all for me. And mine is an undying mutuality; like our existence, it's perpetual.

He is still waiting for my answer, and I whisper, our lips a hairsbreadth away, "No. Everything is splendid."

Jasper smiles and kisses me, pushing us down onto the grass, his hands roving along my body, breathing in the smell of my hair. Caressing the hollow of my throat with butterfly touches, my collarbone feels like it's thawing by a liquid fire while his hands explore… He withdraws; effervescent halcyon optics becoming stunningly auriferous; a slim pale finger twirls a lock of my flaxen tresses.

"Vixen, how I adore you," murmurs my beloved Jasper, breath at my ear, nibbling the delicate lobe, "Rosalie… My Rose… God, how I love you."

"Just like I thirst for you," I reply, my smile seeming permanently etched onto my face. "I love you more than anything, than everything."

Yes, everything is beautiful; because Jasper is with me.


End file.
